Drabbles
by openattheclose
Summary: [The Bourne IdentitySupremacyUltimatum] Drabbles based on the movies.
1. Truth

**So I sorta skimmed through Supremacy today. And since there were like a million points where I thought 'ah, this is a good fanfic moment', I decided to write some drabbles for it. **

**They may be hopelessly out of touch with things that happen later on the film, since I only watched a few scenes. My apologies in advance.**

**During the scene where Jason tells the Russian girl about her parents:**

* * *

Sitting there, tears leaking from her bloodshot eyes, she'd give anything for the man in front of her to disappear. And all his words along with him.

_When something you love gets taken from you, you want to know the truth._

The truth had hurt her more than anything she could have imagined, re-opened the wounds she'd longed so desperately to heal. A man who's name she didn't even know had ruined her life--twice.

She closed her eyes, longing for the bliss of ignorance. She heard him stand up, heard a quiet 'I'm sorry', and heard the door shut.

Right now, she hated the truth.


	2. Disheartened

**This one is based on a photo from IMDB. I don't know whether it's a deleted scene or the actors simply talking out of character, but it still seemed interesting. If you'd like to see it, here's the link (remove the spaces obviously). **www. imdb .com/ gallery/ ss/ 0372183/ Ss/ 0372183/ 5593D13500039Rrgb.jpg? pathgallery&pathkey0372183

* * *

Marie's speed-talking was not, as she had told Jason, a nervous habit, but instead something she did often. Jason never bothered to indicate that he was listening, but she was reassured he was simply by his constant nodding. Sometimes she didn't mind whether he was listening or not, too caught up in whatever she was saying to care, her eyes bright and her smile wide. On these occasions he'd be smiling back.

Today, however, Jason wasn't listening, his eyes looking at hers but not registering that she was there. His face held no smile, no emotion. Whenever he did this Marie's smile would slip slowly from her face, her eyes would darken and she'd stare determinedly somewhere else.

Disheartened.


	3. Killer

**Nikki's interigation. Should be pretty obvious what scene exactly.**

* * *

'Your first assignment was in Geneva…'

Nikki was stammering wildly now, hands gripping the wall behind her. She'd spent a long time working for cold, heartless people, but not once had she seen anger in someone's eyes like the kind that haunted Jason's.

'You fucking people!'

He slammed her against the wall, and tears blurred her vision. She was crying now, shouting with all the desperation she contained. And still he refused to listen, taking what felt like all his anger out on her.

'It's not in your file, it's not in your file!'

Jason looked at her again with that same anger, before leaving the room and leaving Nikki sobbing on the floor.

Her only thought was that those had been a killer's eyes.


	4. A New Life

**During the scene in Identity where Marie leaves with Eamon.**

* * *

Marie stood there silently, her breath melting into the cold winter air, staring at the red bag in front of her.

It was funny, really. Funny that such a normal object could make her angry and break her heart at the same time.

She looked at the bag. She looked at Jason. She looked at the car that was going to take her to a new life. She was leaving everything familiar the moment she sat inside.

_No. You did that already. In Paris, when Jason gave you one last chance._

_Godamn cars._

'Please, Marie.'

Finally she swore in German, grabbed the bag and opened the car door, not moving her eyes from Jason's face. The tiniest flash of regret, and he was emotionless again.

Even when the car had started, pushing defiantly through the snow and the ice, she kept her eyes locked on his like it was the most important thing in the world.

Right now, it probably was.


	5. Identity

**Another Identity one, where Jason looks at the contents of his bank account.**

* * *

'My name is Jason Bourne.'

He said the words slowly, unsure of their truth. Passports. A gun. Hundreds of bills in currencies all from all over the world. Things that, when put together, made no sense. And yet somehow, they also fit perfectly. The clues to a forgotten identity.

The gun was cold and heavy. He wondered idly how many lives it had claimed, if any.

That thought made him frown, eyes darting suspiciously over the passports. Something began to click in his mind. Like a puzzle being completed slowly, piece by confusing piece.

The money would be essential, as would the passports eventually. The gun…he didn't want to be anywhere near it.


	6. Notebook

**Begining of Supremacy.**

* * *

The sky was still dark, and the one solitary lamp on the desk was the only source of light in the room. It hurt Jason's eyes, the sudden brightness, but he ignored it and continued writing. The slow sounds of the scratch of the pen and the drifting waves outside were comforting, the words he was writing-scattered questions to which he knew he'd hate the answer-were not.

Silently he shut the book and turned off the light, staring out at the ocean. The calm beauty of the water was a far better thing to look at than the haunting questions of his notebook.


	7. Easy

**Jason's interrogation at the airport. Supremacy.**

* * *

Jason may have been silent, his eyes elsewhere, but he was concentrating on the questions he was being asked. Assessing them. 

None of the questions made him particularly cautious, none sent up warning flags. He raised his head when the phone rang, and listened carefully to the conversation.

One, simple movement. A hand, reaching slowly for a gun.

The average person would have missed it, but Jason Bourne was not an average person.

That simple movement triggered his defense, and before he could even think about his own actions, both the guard and the interrogator where lying on the floor unconscious.

For a moment, Jason marveled at how easy it all was.


	8. Skill

* * *

The main reason Pamela Landy disliked Jason Bourne was his ease at which he evaded everyone looking for him, no matter how close he was. In her line of work everything had to be precise and simple. No lose ends, no probing questions from unfriendly forces. 

She'd glanced up sharply upon his indication he was looking at her, but he was nowhere to be seen. It was a strange, uneasy feeling of violation, and Pamela hated it.

Now, sitting at her desk with a taped confession in front of her, she felt nothing but unease by the way Bourne had simply and easily extracted the information he needed from Abbot. Information that led to his own suicide, for Christ's sake.

She disliked people who were this skilled. Unless of course, they were working for her.


	9. Hollow

* * *

The human part of him never wanted to let her go, even if the pain of holding her lifeless form was far greater than that caused by any knife or bullet. A small voice in the back of his head told him that this was insane, the idea of dragging a body through the water impossible-- 

_A body._

In that moment he hated himself, hated the simple truth of the one thought reeling through his mind: She's dead. Denial came then, and despite the stupidity of it all, he found himself begging for him to be wrong. For that one devastating truth to turn into a lie.

When he finally rose from the unforgiving depths of emerald water, he forced the denial out of his mind until he felt nothing.


	10. Apology

**Sometime during Supremacy.**

* * *

'Don't you think you owe him an apology?'

Pamela glanced up, startled. Her surprise quickly turned to disapproval when she saw who was speaking; a simple agent whom she could fire in an instant.

'And why would that be?' She asked, her eyes narrowed. She didn't have to question who he was talking about, after all, everyone's assignment for days had been to find out as much as they could about Bourne.

The man shrugged. 'Maybe because everything he's said about himself has been true…and everything _he's_ said about him-' he gestured loosely to the tape of Abott's confession, still sitting on Pamela's desk, '-has been a lie.'

The frown on her mouth deepened.

Later, speaking to Bourne for the second time, her hands had hovered over his files and her voice had been hesitant. 'David Webb. That's your real name.'

Some semblance of identity. Her own personal apology that was better, she decided, than any spoken words.


	11. Relief

Identity, at the gas station during the drive to Paris.

* * *

Jason had deliberately given the clerk the largest bill he had. Her face had been confused, and she'd examined it carefully in the dim light. 

He kept his eyes focused on her, the menu, anything. Waiting to here the telltale sounds of a chair being pushed back, a car door slamming, an engine starting.

Silence, except for the sound of various customers talking, drink glasses clinking. The still-suspicious clerk handed him his change, and only then did he allow himself to turn around.

Marie was still sitting at the table, fingers trailing slowly over the passports he'd left there, an action that now seemed stupid to him. After all, she could easily take them, and the money, and leave. But she hadn't, and he didn't know whether to feel relieved or guilty.


	12. Fear

**Beginning of Supremacy. **

* * *

Jason stood motionless at the edge of the crowded marketplace. Normally he would have taken comfort in how easily he blended in with the crowds, but today it annoyed him. He craned his neck, trying to see above the dozens of faces. 

His eyes fell on the men who had caused his suspicion. His back was to Jason, and he was talking to the owner of a small shop.

Jason had gone into that shop almost every day. His methodical mind, the machine, had ignored the danger of developing such a reliable pattern. It was something he regretted doing now.

He lifted his bottle of water and let the liquid slip past his lips, but it did nothing to ease the dry taste in his mouth. He knew the feeling well, experienced it every night after he woke, shaking, from more visions of his past.

Fear.

Time was short and critical. He turned away and started to hurry out of the marketplace, run across the beach. Here was when the machine inside him came to life, if only in an effort to save his own.


	13. Remember

**Ultimatum, cafe scene in Spain.  
**

* * *

'Daniels said they did that to you over and over again. That's how they…' 

Nikki trailed off and looked away, fingers tight around her already-cold coffee mug. She didn't need to finish.

'Why are you helping me?'

Her eyes snapped up, startled. A deer caught in headlights. She was silent for a moment.

'It was hard for me…with you.'

It was Jason's turn to look up sharply. He paused and studied her. In spite of his excessive training to read body language and facial expressions, he had no idea what Nikki was thinking.

For a moment she looked like she was going to laugh, almost, but smiled bitterly instead. 'You really don't remember anything, do you?'

'No.'

It was, she considered, the truth, however much they didn't like it.


	14. End

**End of Ultimatum.**

* * *

Jason stood at the edge of the street, eyes focused on the building before him, and the woman coming out of it.

Pamela Landy was frowning, fear apparent in her otherwise-emotionless face. She stopped in front of him, silent. Both of them had been waiting for this moment for a long time.

'They'll kill you for giving me this place.'

She shrugged. 'My guess is Vosen's already on his way.'

_Shit._ It made sense, even if he hadn't considered it. He momentarily forced his mind to concentrate on something other than the exit plans already running through his head.

'Why'd you do it?'

Pamela hesitated. She could say anything-she felt sorry for him, she was trying to help…

'This isn't us, David.'

Jason winced when she called him that. David Webb may've been a normal man at first, not a fucked up killing machine, but he still choose to become one.

He wasn't sure which identity he hated most.

'What they turned you into, what they did with Blackbriar…this has to stop.'

'Then stop it. Everything you need is in there.'

Jason handed her the bag and she took it without a second glance, her frown deepening when he headed into the building.

'David…come in with me. It's better if we do this together.'

Jason turned to look at her, one hand still on the door handle. He shook his head.

'This is where it started for me, this is where it ends.'

She watched the door close behind him and let the hand she'd extended instinctively fall to her side.

_Let him go._


	15. Free

**Sometime after Identity.**

* * *

Out of all the places they'd lived in, Marie liked Portugal best. She liked lying on the beach, up to her knees in glistening water, soaking her skirt with it, and resting her elbows in the white sand. Her own smile was almost brighter than the sun beating down on them.

'It's beautiful,' she said softly, reaching for Jason's hand, gazing at the skyline where azure blue meet endless green.

'It is.' He wasn't looking at the ocean, but at her, and his smile me this eyes for once.

For the first time since Barcelona, she was sad when they had to leave, almost pleading. 'Four months. That's hardly a long time-'

'It's the longest we've stayed anywhere-'

'-And we haven't had any reason to be suspicious!'

It didn't do any good. It never did, she thought mournfully.

'I cannot put us in danger, put you in danger. And staying somewhere for as long as this…it will. It will. Do you understand?'

She did, but that didn't stop her missing how free she'd felt there.


	16. Guilty

**Beginning of Ultimatum, Jason's visit to Martin.**

* * *

Jason didn't know why he was here. Well, maybe he did. He'd rather find out about his sister's death from a person rather than various newspaper articles, for a start.

The door swung open, and Jason's breath caught in his throat. His mind held no doubt that the man in front of him was Martin Kreutz. He bore a few facial resemblances to Marie, along with a photo of her, lying on a table. Jason entered the apartment, shutting the door, never lifting his gaze from Martin's. How could he tell him?

'Where is my sister?'

His voice was almost harsh, desperate. Jason winced and gestured to a chair.

'Why don't you sit do-'

'Where is she?'

'She's dead. She was killed.'

Maybe he'd known already, but hearing it again still caused sharp flashes of pain in his eyes. Jason's guilt deepened. 'I'm sorry.'

'It was always going to end this way…'

'I didn't believe that.' Hoped, more like. How many times had he insisted they had to leave again, had to stay safe? All in the feeble hope that Treadstone would stop looking. All for nothing.

'Why?'

'She was shot.'

'Did you kill him?'

He could have said no, could have told him Marie wouldn't have wanted him to-but somehow he felt that would make everything worse. 'I...'

'Did you?'

'Do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only person in this room who cared for her,' he said sharply, before sighing and averting his gaze. 'Yes.'

'Now what?'

'Someone started all this…and now I'm going to find them.'

He looked back up at Martin, at the anger reflected in his face. Something they both shared.

He looked until he couldn't take it anymore, and then he left.


	17. Purpose

**Before Ultimatum.**

* * *

Before, Jason had always had a purpose, simple as it was:

Live.

That was all it boiled down to, and between the nights filled with fear and the mornings laced with guilt, it was the only thing that mattered. To survive. Evade whatever and whoever was looking for him.

He'd concentrated on it every moment, always suspicious, always watching. Brooding, assessing, looking for danger in every face, every motion.

For all his efforts, he'd failed. When he'd spoke those short simple words-'We're blown'-all those weeks ago, it'd been an apology, almost. Because he got lazy, let himself believe that nothing was going to happen.

If it hadn't been for that, if he'd done something different-but that was a useless thought, and he pushed it away immediately.

Before, he'd needed to hide, now, he needed revenge. To find out whoever had started all of this. To finally get answers.

And that was the greatest reason to live that he could think of.


	18. Desperation

**Beginning of Identity.**

* * *

His incisions were careful, slow, and precise, almost gentle. Preparing for the moment that this strange, wounded figure lying before him would jerk to life.

Two bullets, not too far in either. Two bullets and a bank account number. _Gemeinschaft Bank, Zurich._

He shook his head, frowning and glancing back at the table.

The man wasn't there. He froze, and it was fear, not confusion, that flooded his mind.

A single moment and then arms were pulling at him, slamming him roughly against a wall. 'What the hell are you doing to me?!' Shouted, angry, desperate words.

He stammered wildly in Italian, the stranger's hand still at his throat.

'Goddammit, where am I?'

'A boat. You were in the water…we pulled you out.'

'What water?' The anger in his eyes never dimmed, his grip never loosened.

'You were shot. There are the bullets-'

He pulled away, grabbing at whatever his hands could reach, pulling up the small capsule, examining it.

'A bank account number,' the Italian pressed, 'why was it in your hip? Under the skin?'

He didn't answer, but his entire form crumpled and shook. 'Oh God…'

Only then did he look utterly hopeless, his desperation even more apparent when he insisted he didn't know who he was.

Something-the fact that he was dragged out of the water, the bullets, his constant questions, him fainting-something made his statement believable.


	19. Name

**Identity again, in the park in Zurich.**

* * *

In a matter of seconds he'd grabbed the police officers' weapon and used it against them. Without thinking he aimed a gun at them. He hadn't needed to think, only needed to feel threatened, and he'd disarmed them as easy as some people stated their own name.

Some people. Not him. He didn't have a name. He had skills that normal people didn't posses, but he didn't have a name.

Where the hell was the sense in that?


	20. A Car

**Identity. Would you believe me if I said I was watching it now? XD**

* * *

She-whoever she was, he knew her last name was Kreutz-was staring at the money Jason had handed her wordlessly, biting her lip. She swore in German and looked up.

'I got enough trouble, OK?'

'OK. Can I have my money back?'

She didn't answer, still touching the bills silently. 'Get in the car,' she answered finally, swinging the door open and cramming inside.

He did the same, almost smiling in triumph when it started to move. He pretended not to notice the anxious looks she threw him, but his hand wandered instinctively to the door handle all the same.

'What's your name?'

He glanced up, surprised. 'Jason. You?'

'Marie.' She was frowning, gripping the wheel too tightly, he saw. 'You could rent a car for $10,000.'

He couldn't. Not with the probing questions, the papers he'd have to sign with a name he wasn't even sure was his.

He shrugged and looked away, concentrating on the fading sound of sirens in the distance.

He was glad when she didn't ask anything else.


	21. Remember II

**After Ultimatum.**

* * *

'_Do you remember?'_

Jason hated that question. The first time someone had asked it, he'd been in his apartment in Paris, glancing at various papers lying on the bookshelf in an attempt to gather some kind of information about himself.

As much as he'd wanted to reply 'yes', to tell Marie that everything was coming back to him-he couldn't, and he didn't.

Later, the more things he found out, the less he wanted to know. He remembered things in the dreams that plagued him every night, and he wrote them down. He never talked at length about them, preferring to pretend that they didn't exist.

When Nikki had asked him, there had been an almost hopeful tone to her voice, and he knew she wasn't referring to the emotional weight of ending lives, but of something different. Happy, maybe. A happy memory for once.

And still he told her 'no'.

Even now, there was still various holes and gaps in his mind. The years before Treadstone. The years during it, outside of assignments. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to remember everything, and he didn't think he ever would anyway.

He took comfort in the few good memories he had, of times not so long ago, when he wasn't so confused and alone, wasn't reduced to being the machine he'd once been forced to be. But even they were fading, replaced by the guilt of blood-filled nightmares.

And still he kept going, kept surviving, in the hope that maybe one day they'd clear, and he could finally answer 'yes' when someone asked him that.


	22. Found

**Apologies for not updating for a while. Been working on a multi-chapter Ultimatum story which I'm not sure I'm gonna upload yet. **

**Nikki one, end of Ultimatum. They're fun. **

* * *

Nikki was tired, and she needed a drink. That much was for sure.

As it was, she'd like to be lying in a bed somewhere, but instead she was standing at the edge of a bar in Uruguay. But her eyes weren't on the rows of refreshments, the beautiful scenery behind her, or anything like that.

They were on the television.

'Webb, who was known inside the intelligence community, as "Jason Bourne", jumped from the fourteenth floor of the CIA facility where he was trained in New York into the East River below. While experts say it would be nearly impossible to survive the fall, despite two weeks of efforts, his body has still not been recovered.'

She smiled slowly and brightly. Too many hours she'd spent worrying about Jason and his fate-but this was something new to cling on to, to hope for.

After all, she mused, there's only one reason they wouldn't be able to find a body during a two-week period…


	23. Wishes

**Identity. As you might've guessed.**

* * *

Marie knew she was awake even before the blackness in front of her eyes melted away. She knew it because she could feel the pillow behind her head; the sheets lying against her frame.

She felt dizzy, and for a few moments she wondered why she was staring at walls decorated in peeling white paper, why the smell of hair dye clung to the bed. Just one moment, before it all came flying back to her.

'Hey.' Jason's voice was quiet, as though he honestly though microphones were hidden behind picture frames or buried in the folds of the cheap green carpet. Her smile at him was disorientated, her fingers loosely grasping her hair. She frowned, a part of her wishing the strands were still long and still red. Wishing the past day hadn't happened.


	24. Fear II

**Another Marie one, sometime before Supremacy. Her thoughts on fear.**

* * *

Marie tried, she did.

But for all her efforts, she couldn't create true fear for her and Jason's situation. She argued when he insisted they had to leave a city or country and constantly hoped his nightmares were just that--nightmares--rather than true things he'd done in the past.

As much as she tried, she never felt fearful that Treadstone would hurt them. Always thought there was some way they'd make it through everything. And she hated this.

It was this same hatred that somehow led her to an Internet café, looking up articles on various deaths that had occurred a few years ago. She knew their faces and their names, had watched Jason himself search desperately for information about them just weeks before. But this time she looked up details he hadn't, that he couldn't bring himself to in front of her.

She returned home with printouts in hand. Jason was waiting, worried. She gave him the papers, reassuring him it was okay, watching his face change as he read them; the newspaper articles complete with dates and grave sites. 'You couldn't remember the names,' she told him by way of explanation. He looked up at her, grateful. In some small part she'd eased the guilt that lurked in him, and that was enough to satisfy them both.

But the very fact that he was responsible for all these deaths was the only thing that truly made her fearful.


	25. Threat

**Ultimatum, after Simon Ross is killed in Waterloo

* * *

**Silence.

Not the clicking of keyboards, not frantic words shouted into an earpiece-

Nothing. Just silence.

Vosen put his head in his hands. 'Oh…shit…' They'd killed the wrong man. They'd been so convinced it was Bourne behind that godamn door, but then-

He snapped back into focus like someone had flipped a switch. As monumental a screw-up as this was, simply standing there berating himself for it wouldn't help.

'Get the asset out of there,' he barked, ignoring the dozens of monitors that all showed just how big of a mess they'd made.

'What about Bourne?'

'Get him out of there NOW!'

The room sprang to life again, and Vosen turned away. The last thing he needed to concentrate on was what a fucking threat Jason Bourne was turning out to be.


	26. Mantain

**Landy's POV sometime during Ultimatum.**

* * *

She dealt with life and it's subsequent choices and she always did-sharply and distantly, without emotion. Because emotion would mean she was a person, not a figure of authority but a normal human being.

She'd been careful during those moments with Vosen, moments when he insisted he could kill Bourne and Parsons. Been careful not to let more than a minute amount of anger and fear spill out of her voice.

'You have no right.'

'Yes, I do.'

Calm. Cold.

He was everything that she herself was struggling to maintain.


	27. Everest

**Ultimatum, when Nikki first sees Jason in Madrid.**

* * *

Nikki could hear Vosen's voice as it struggled to drown how fast and how hard her heart was beating. She could see Jason, his eyes trained on her face, his gun raised.

She wondered what it would take to make him pull the trigger.

'Response: Everest,' she spoke calmly.

She saw something flinch in Jason's face, a hesitation she did not usually associate with him. For all he knew, that could have been the code for distress. Agents could be heading to apprehend him right now.

It was a great effort to hide her relief when the trigger remained untouched.


	28. Victim

**Jason's POV On the Eurostar. Ultimatum.**

* * *

The tone in which the article held itself was distant, careless; the author could not possibly know just how much blood lurked behind the story of Jason's life.

And still, he forced himself to read it, smiling bitterly at the term 'renegade assassin'. His smile faded when the article mentioned Marie, and his eyes darted instinctively over to the picture of her.

_Victim: Marie Kreutz,_ the caption stated.

He winced, wondering idly what the author thought she was a victim of: Treadstone, or Jason himself.


End file.
